


For the Trees

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Hydra Trash Meme 2014 ongoing - blanket dub/non consent warnings [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Mentions of non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spoilers for the end of Captain America The Winter Soldier, cap 2 spoilers, mentions of torture, no actual non-con or torture, winter soldier spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 04:29:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1455406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain America 2 Spoilers, Spoilers for Captain America The Winter Soldier. I'm putting the summary in the notes for a month or two, to avoid spoilers. This has nothing to do with any actual scenes from the movie but it will ruin the ending if you haven't seen it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Trees

**Author's Note:**

> Brock's been highly trained but there's one job he likes more than the others - being so close to Rogers that Rogers doesn't even see him. PWP.

It's animal, almost, except there's something far more enjoyable about it. What Rogers doesn't know won't hurt him until HYDRA wants it to, and why not get a little fun out of this while he's got a good thing going?

Brock's never been one to want for bedpartners, to find himself alone if he wants companionship but this, oh, this is so much better.

Rogers is _not_ submissive, and that's the best part about all of this, about the whole thing – Rogers gives in to him without ever giving in to him, and it's rare that something like that is so willingly put into his hands.

Rogers doesn't say much, doesn't need to. This is soldiers, this is finding comfort through physicality, this is a war within Rogers himself, and it's manifesting in some of the best sex of Brock's life, a fact Brock thinks nothing of. Rogers trusts Brock, far too much, more than Pierce ever could have dreamed. 

He's going to miss Rogers' mouth when he's gone, that's for sure. Still, small price to pay.

They're still dressed, mostly, except that Brock has his dick out in a supply closet of the kind that's deliberately been set up to be convenient – Pierce thinks of everything – and he's so deep in Rogers that it's almost enough to make him laugh. Rogers has no idea.

A raw sound, quiet but rough, scrapes its way up Rogers' throat, and Brock tightens his fingers under Rogers' chin, pulls Rogers' head back against his shoulder where he's crowded them both against the wall of the supply closet – any closer and Rogers' face is going to get crushed against the concrete – and wraps his hand around Rogers' dick, which is so hard it has to have been hurting even though Rogers never says a thing, Rogers never thinks of himself. 

His hair brushes the side of Brock's face and Rogers' new, ridiculously _now_ haircut is one of the things Brock finds most amusing. A round peg in a square hole, still trying desperately to fit in, unaware that the past hasn't just caught up with him but never left in the first place.

Still, there's no denying Rogers is a good-looking guy. The perfect specimen, and so beautifully, innocently Aryan with it. He's gorgeous – all fair skin and hard muscle and blond hair and blue eyes. Brock doesn't tell him he's beautiful because he doesn't need to, compliments aren't the kind of thing he wants to give Rogers

Rogers' hands are braced against the wall, his whole body undulating against Brock's and it is good sex, it really is. Who would have thought it from Captain America?

Brock really cannot wait for the day they reveal themselves, the day he can stand in front of Rogers and show him just what he's been doing for so long, just how wrong he's really been. Sometimes Rogers still talks about Schmidt and the countless HYDRA agents he slew as a young man, and it's all Brock can do not to choke him for it, but the look on his face when he finds out will be worth the wait.

Still, from the way Rogers throws his head back, another moan on his beautiful red lips, maybe choking him would be too enjoyable for him.

Maybe Brock should arrange to tell him who they are right before he comes, one day. Wait until he's cresting that peak and whisper those two long-past-due words into Rogers' ear as he keens and spills himself over Brock's hand, _Hail HYDRA_ and watch Rogers come apart at the seams as he comes to his own defeat – the humiliation of that would be perfect, would be all-encompassing, overwhelming. The only thing better would be filming it, and that wouldn't be so difficult – capturing every moment in high definition to be laid bare to the world later.

Rogers moans at him again, taking every thrust Brock gives like he was born to do it, and it's a shame it takes a lot to mark him. Brock's hoping he'll be allowed a turn once they take over, once Captain America is chained in one of their deep, dark prisons. He wants a chance to ruin him, to beat him within an inch of his life.

Present him naked to the American people and watch them cower, watch the shame on Rogers' face. Brock entertains the idea of being allowed to keep him for a pet – as stupid an idea as that would be, as dangerous, as risky, he likes to think about it sometimes.

He'd never get permission, wouldn't truly want to do it but imagine that, imagine Rogers for a pet. Dressed – or undressed – however Brock wants him, licking his shoes if Brock wants, _eating_ off the floor if Brock wants. 

It's stupid, and he chuckles, and Rogers – oblivious as always – just chuckles back, thinking it's him, thinking it's them, thinking this is fun for both of them and that's why Brock's laughing. Brock sinks his teeth into the back of Rogers' neck as well as he can and tries to thrust a little harder – Rogers doesn't behave like a woman, he doesn't turn into a chick as soon as Brock gets his hand down his pants.

No, he's tall and hard a lean and he laughs when they fuck, encourages with low moans that only drive home the fact that this is the manliest guy Brock's ever had the pleasure to nail, and that Brock's permission to do this is at Rogers' leisure. If Rogers didn't want this, Brock wouldn't get a say.

Nobody knows – yet – what the limits of the serum are. But when they find out, and they will, because experimentation on Erskine's Super-Soldier Serum is the number one priority, they're going to figure out how to override him.

Right now, like this, Brock gets to fuck Rogers because Rogers trusts him, and there's something delicious about that. Captain America taking HYDRA dick like a champ, without a clue. 

But later, when they know how to tie him down, when they know how to sedate him just enough that he can't struggle enough to do damage, when they know how to subdue him and control him and do whatever the hell they want with him, it's going to be so much more fun then.

Everyone will get a turn if they want one, whether it's tying him to a table to fuck him or stripping the skin from his bones. Rogers will heal, apparently, and isn't that the best part of all of this? Just where do your limits end with a man who won't die?

Rogers hits with everything, all muscle and movement and it's going to be a shame when Brock takes him down - which he'll do with no hesitation because, at the end of the day, Rogers is just a warm hole. But he's responsive and, when the time comes, he'll put up a delicious fight.

Every thrust forces out a breath from Rogers, a rough exhalation that's half a laugh and half a moan and Brock knows there's nobody within a floor of them – Pierce will clear the floor for them – but Rogers has no idea, thinks they're being covert. This is how Rogers does covert – soft and quiet and how he can be so rough when he's taking it, how he can be so rough when he's making so little noise, Brock doesn't know.

Brock would love to make him scream.

He's one of the best at covert ops that Brock has ever met – above six foot and two-hundred-plus pounds of muscle and he can be _silent_ when he wants to, makes not a _sound_ if it's required of him. Even now, when Brock's fucking into him with all the strength he can manage, Rogers' only sounds are barely-audible – Brock's hearing is better than most people's; it's an advantage on the tac-team – and they're still only audible because Rogers is letting him hear them.

Rogers can hold his breath for seven minutes without trying and, though it's certainly a skill on the rare occasions he gets on his knees, it's more of a skill when he takes out an entire building full of enemy operatives. They never hear him coming because they can't hear his heartbeat and there's nothing else about him to hear.

Rogers' jaw works against edge of Brock's hand, his mouth opening, and Brock can see enough of the muscle tension in the side of his face to know he's screwing his eyes up – close, but never mentions it, as always. Brock had better get his mind back on the game.

It doesn't take long once he thinks about it, once he concentrates on tight heat and hard muscle, once he lets the little sounds Rogers is letting himself make become all he hears – the gasps, the moans, the little hitches in Rogers' breath – and then, with a sound like he's been punched in the stomach (and Brock will know what that sounds like soon enough), Rogers' hips shudder forward, the force of it bowing his body enough that's it's not easy for Brock to keep his head back. But he does – mainly because Rogers lets him – Rogers' adams apple working under his palm, heartbeat fast and strong under Brock's thumb and forefinger, and it would be so easy just to squeeze. 

Brock resists, pitching headlong into his own orgasm a moment later and they're both dripping sweat, though they're both using condoms – so they're spared some of the mess at least.

Rogers lets his head hang forwards as Brock withdraws, turns around to lean against the wall as he chuckles quietly, and Brock gives him a smile as he strips off the condom, tucks himself back into his pants – he's heading back to his quarters for a shower anyway, the way Rogers will, too.

“Gimme yours,” Brock says, holding his hand out as Rogers removes and knots his own condom.

“You sure?” he says, chest heaving, and Brock takes it with a nod as Rogers squeezes his other fist around his dick, foreskin slipping forward over the head once, twice. He smiles, showing all his teeth and he's still half hard, he could go again.

Brock, alas, cannot – Brock doesn't have serum running through his veins. Yet.

“Debrief tomorrow morning?” he says, and Rogers huffs a laugh as he gets himself back into his uniform – nice looking thing, all dark colors and form-fitting. 

“Eight,” Rogers says, lashes sweeping down as he regards Brock with the kind of look that says he's disappointed one round is all he gets. “Unless you want to stop by mine around seven? I go running at five so I should be back by then.”

Brock shakes his head. “Maybe, but I'm trying to catch up on sleep,” he says instead, and Steve laughs, nods his understanding as he looks away.

He watches Brock make a show of 'checking' the corridor outside to be sure they're alone and he goes first when Brock holds the door, and walking like he hasn't just had the full force of a tac-team professional pounding into him. And when Brock says “Eight a.m,” by way of a parting comment, Rogers lifts a hand and waves it without even turning back, settling it on his belt buckle as he turns the corner and walks away, tipping his head back so that his sweat-slicked hair sparkles in the light – not that he'll have done it deliberately.

Brock lets the smile slip off his face, throws his condom in the nearest trash, can and then tucks Rogers' into the pocket on his right thigh before he touches one hand to his ear. “Rumlow,” he says to whichever lackey's lucky enough to have been on the other end of his line today. “Sample sixteen in possession. Hail HYDRA.”


End file.
